Chapter 12
Twelve
“I trust the day’s activities have not proven too strenuous for you to put in an appearance at the Grenville’s ball tonight.
Knowing you as I do, I cannot think that such a paltry event as having your life put at risk would have the least effect of dampening your spirit—at least I hope that your nerves are stronger than that, for I need that scrap of waistcoat if I am to begin my inquires first thing in the morning. ”
Augusta released a rueful sigh. It had been rather strange to read the earl’s words, knowing, for the first time, that they were truly addressed to her and not some phantom scribble of ink on paper.
While it was clear that Marcus didn’t expect her to fall into a girlish fit of megrims, she wasn’t quite sure whether to be heartened or discouraged by that fact.
Or the fact that he preferred to call her Gus.
No matter that those who knew her best did so, too.
With him, it was—how had he put it?—so that he might delude himself into imagining his friend was still a man.
A grimace tugged at her lips. She must not delude herself into imagining that Marcus saw her as anything but a feisty bluestocking who hurled argumentative words and reticules with equal abandon.
And it was no use thinking that might change.
She had precious little of the delicate sensibilities a man desired in a female.
He might prove broadminded enough to tolerate her oddities, but more than that …
“Gus, have you heard a word I have been saying?”
She gave a guilty start and forced her eyes to stop searching the crowded ballroom.”Forgive me, Jamie. I fear my thoughts had momentarily strayed elsewhere.”
“To Cathay, by the look of it,” murmured Ashton. “Is something the matter? You’ve been acting rather oddly of late.”
Odd. There it was again. Even her oldest friend thought her strange. “I have been distracted by certain concerns,” she answered vaguely, brushing at the folds of her gown to mask her unsettled feelings.
He shot her a quizzical glance, then all at once a slow smile started to spread across his face. “Does it perchance have anything to do with the attentions of a certain gentleman?”
Much to her chagrin, Augusta felt a rush of heat rise to her cheeks.
Ashton’s expression turned into a sly grin.
“I thought I had noticed that Ludlowe was taking a marked interest in you,” he said with a note of satisfaction at being so observant.
“He seems a fine enough fellow, and now that I think on it, it makes a good deal of sense that he is on the lookout for a suitable bride, what with the prospect of soon coming into his uncle’s title. ”
Before Augusta could find her tongue to disabuse him of such a corkbrained notion, he gave her a little wink and continued. “I never doubted you would catch on, especially now that you have chosen to, er, dress a little differently than your usual style.”
He took her utter silence as confirmation of his hunch. “Well, I don’t blame you for being distracted. When one’s thoughts are riveted on …” He began to wax poetic about the object of his own affections, giving Augusta a moment to recover from her friend’s conjectures.
Then, her initial urge to dismiss his conjecture as absurd gave way as she thought about it, and a speculative gleam came to her eyes. It was true that she had encouraged Ludlowe’s attentions on several occasions, hoping to pump some sort of useful information out of him.
After all, his was one of the two names left on her list.
But so far, their conversations had not progressed past the normal, vacuous comments on the weather and whether the area surrounding Greenfield Manor promised a decent hunt.
However, if she were to give the impression that her feelings were more than simply neighborly, she might be able to learn something of value in an intimate, unguarded moment.
Augusta squeezed her eyes shut as Ashton excused himself to fetch a glass of champagne. Could she pull it off? Could she bat her eyelashes or simper convincingly enough to make him think she had developed a tendre for him? And would it do any good?
Her brow furrowed. If the rumors were true, Ludlowe needed a rich wife, so perhaps she wouldn’t need to depend on mere charm to fix his attention. After all, it was no secret that she would come into a marriage with a sizeable dowry.
“I would ask what has brought such a grim expression to your face, but I fear I wouldn’t want to know.” So intent was Augusta on working out her plans that she failed to notice Marcus’s approach.
His mouth twitched as a guilty look flashed over her features. “Ah, I see that I am not far off the mark.”
The musicians were warming up in prelude to a new melody.
“You’re not the only one thinking of how to discover the information we need,” she said under her breath, turning to hide the fresh flood of heat once again colored her face.
Drat the man, she thought rather irritably.
And drat herself! Was the simple sound of his voice going to cause fire to pulse through her veins her every time they met?
Marcus chuckled. “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” He linked his arm with hers. “Come, let us find some refreshment.” In a lower voice he added, “There appears to be a quiet spot in the corner where we might continue this discussion with a modicum of privacy.”
Augusta let him lead her away from the crowd and fetch her a glass of ratafia punch. “You don’t imagine that I mean simply to hand over the only hard bit of evidence I possess and go back to my embroidery, do you?” she asked as he passed her a glass.
“You embroider?” He took a long swallow of his champagne. “I would not have imagined it possible.”
“Oh, you know what I meant.”
“Unfortunately I do.”
“Lord Dunham,” she began.
“Marcus,” he corrected in soft voice. “Remember?”
Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Very well … Marcus. It’s just that I … you see, I, too, have a plan. Of sorts. That is …” Why was it that she couldn’t seem to manage a coherent sentence?
The earl appeared to ignore her stammerings. “Did you bring the piece of the waistcoat?”
“Of course I did.” She fumbled with her reticule and withdrew the scrap of silk.
He slipped it into his pocket. “Now, you may as well tell me what plan you have been cultivating in that fertile mind of yours. I daresay I shall learn about it soon enough.”
Augusta tiled her chin up a fraction higher.
“Gus,” he warned. “I thought we had a deal. If we are to work together, we must keep each other informed as to our intentions.”
The trouble was, she thought with wry dismay, she hadn’t realized the deal would include having her pulse start to race out of control whenever he was near her.
Her fingers tightened around her glass as the faint scent of bay rum wafted from his freshly shaven cheeks.
Daring a quick glance in that direction, she found herself fighting the urge to run her hand over his sun-kissed flesh and twine her fingers in the long, silky locks curling around his ear.
Appalled at where her thoughts were headed, as well as the fact that they might be transparent, she forced her gaze out to where the couples were swirling by in a blur of color.
The earl gave a bemused smile. “Is it that bad?”
Had he really guessed even the half of it? She sucked in her breath. “Is what so bad?” she asked faintly.
“Your plan, of course.” He regarded the contents of her glass with an arch of his brow. “Has someone dumped a bottle of blue ruin in the punch, for you are beginning to act a trifle foxed?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, secretly relieved it was that to which he had been referring. “I am in complete control of my senses.”
“That might be a matter of some debate, but enough of this verbal fencing, Gus. Out with it.”
“It is nothing to make such a fuss over. I merely intend to see if I might encourage Lord Ludlowe’s attentions …”
Marcus’s expression turned very grim.
“… and manage to coax some slip of the tongue from him.”
“And just how, may I ask, do you intend to coax a slip of the tongue,” he asked in a very deliberate voice.
“Well, er, in the usual way that females do such things.”
There was a moment of ominous silence before the earl’s jaw unclenched enough for him to speak. “Absolutely, unequivocally not.”
“You have no right to order—”
“Are you stark, raving mad?” he continued, ignoring her feeble protest. “Have you conveniently forgotten that if your suspicion is at all right, Ludlowe is a very dangerous man? If he is indeed, our culprit, you saw just this afternoon what he is capable of if he thinks his plans are in the least threatened.”
“I shall be careful, of course.”
“Of course,” he mimicked. “And of course, since the brilliant Lady Augusta is infinitely more clever than any mere male, there is no chance of any mishap along the way.”
Augusta’s hands balled into fists at her side. “Odious, overbearing man,” she retorted in a near whisper.
“Stubborn, willful termagant,” he replied through gritted teeth.
There was a discreet cough as a well-dressed figure paused in his approach.
“I had hoped to claim my spot on your card, Lady Augusta, but if you would rather continue what looks to be a fascinating conversation, I could return at another time.” Ludlowe’s cool gaze regarded the two of them, each rigid with anger, and a look of faint amusement played on his lips.
“Indeed not,” said Augusta emphatically, reaching out her hand to him with what she hoped was a brilliant smile. “I am delighted with the prospect of having the chance to enjoy such a charming partner as you, sir.” Her tone left little doubt as to her opinion of her present company.
Ludlowe gave a slight bow, then proffered his arm. “Well then, if you will excuse us, Dunham, I believe the set is forming.”